Oophorectomy

I received a call from Dr. R on Saturday evening. He had been notified of the results of my most recent blood work and my condition was continuing to worsen. He let me know that it was imperative that we move through with the surgery and that it would take place the next morning. It was also crucial that I receive a blood transfusion and the placement of an inferior vena cava filter prior to the surgery. I was terrified. I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep that night. Throughout all my complications, Doug had been by my side. Every night I had spent in the hospital, he had been with me on a tiny pullout chair. He was my rock. I needed him that night more than ever. I needed him to hold my hand. I needed him to talk to me about insignificant things so I wouldn't have to think about the insurmountable hurdle that lay ahead the next day. And he did.

The next morning, the first thing that needed to happen was a blood transfusion. The nurse told me that my fever would break shortly after the transfusion. I also started feeling better. Next I would be wheeled down to have the inferior vena cava inserted. An inferior vena cava filter (IVC filter) is a type of vascular filter that is implanted into the inferior vena cava to prevent fatal pulmonary emboli. The process of placing the filter was pretty frightening, because the doctor had to slice into my jugular vein and feed the metal filter into place. Then another x-ray was performed to be sure it was where it should be. My little tiny baby was only 8 weeks old and had already been through so much.

Soon after I arrived back at my room, Dr. R and Dr. K both came in to discuss the surgery. The surgery was considered exploratory, because they were pretty sure that the ovarian torsion was causing the problems, but couldn't be positive until they got a look inside. Most likely they would be doing a unilateral oophorectomy, which is the removal of one ovary. They told me that there were significant risks involved with doing this surgery. I had just had a pulmonary embolism a week before, but there was no other option but to operate. The anesthesiologist came in shortly after and told me that doing anesthesia on a pregnant woman puts the baby's life in jeopardy. He told me that it could cause the baby's heart to stop. Dr. R told me that he would have a sonographer in the recovery room to perform an ultrasound to check for fetal heartbeat immediately after surgery. I was about to undergo a procedure that could stop my baby's heart and there was no way for me to avoid it. I had to just sit with Doug in a hospital room for an hour before the surgery knowing that it might be the last hour I ever got to be pregnant. I wanted to talk to my little baby and say how sorry I was for what was about to happen.

I was wheeled down stairs with Doug by my side. I prayed and I prayed. And then I prayed more. I didn't care what happened with anything else, I just wanted my baby to survive. I handed Doug my glasses and he gave me a kiss. As they wheeled me towards the operating room, I felt so alone. I wanted my husband holding my hand walking with me down that hallway, but instead it was just me watching him disappear into the blurry backdrop of the hospital. The anesthesiologist started to administer medication into my IV, and he told me to count back from one hundred. Instead I said a prayer for my little tiny baby.